The beginning of a childcare era

On Tuesday, I have to start leaving my son with a childcare provider so I can start school. It's a horrifically lonely prospect. I haven't been away from him for more than maybe an hour at a time while I run up to Walmart and a relative watches him. Luckily Tuesday is my short class day- 12:30 to 4:10, but it's still torture.

I have all of these stupid worries- will I miss his first crawls or his first time sitting up? What if he pops a tooth? What if he misses me? I feel I am going to miss everything, even though it's completely irrational.

I remember when I thought I knew how I would parent to the final detail. And sure, it was stupid. Some have stayed- I talk, sing, and play with him constantly, I will start reading books to him shortly, he gets bathed right before bedtime, tummy time and solo play is enforced, and I allow him to self-soothe (not in a CIO kind of way, but it will probably end up being that way when we start strict crib training), feed on demand. Others, like my strict stance on him belonging in a crib and the no bink rule are out the window.

I feel a bit frustrated at times with the no crib thing. I worry so much the entire night. And he will sleep in his crib for naps, but we've moved so much that it was comforting for both of us just to co-sleep. However, Little Boy is interested in crawling and as such, I am going to need to crib train him so I can be sure he'll be safe through the night and not crack his head on the concrete floors.

Binks will most likely be taken away when he starts getting teeth. I have a teething bink for transitioning purposes. The reason I let it go is simple- he was jaundiced and I couldn't hold him for more than thirty minutes every three hours and the bink brought him comfort while he was under the lights. I talked to and touched him, and when I held him I took his little mask off so he could look around and see me and his father.

For now, he is healthy, happy, and full of wonderful smiles and laughs. He's bright and hitting all of his milestones 2-3 weeks early. And he is ungodly beautiful and giant (15 pounds and 27 inches as of his last doctor visit- he was 7.2 pounds and 19 inches at birth). I'm pretty sure I'm doing something right, even with all of the instability of the 12 weeks of his life. Right now, I can give him stability and security.


Little Boy's birth- and his gestation period- were the most wonderful, beautiful, and healthy times in my life. I absolutely loved being pregnant with him. I cherished every change in my body- and even now with my post-pregnancy body I love my wider hips and just feel more womanly. I loved feeling him move and the ultrasounds. I knew his name by ten weeks.

I am not going to be melodramatic and say I never knew what love was. I will say that I didn't know how strong I was, how fast I would be willing to die for somebody, and how much more I could love Fat Man than 2 seconds before. Maybe I'm still being melodramatic, but everything changed for the better.

In which I lay out who we are

We are a family of three: Fat Man, Little Boy, and myself. Fat Man and I have been together for three years now. Our child, Little Boy, is currently 12 weeks old.

It's been a really rough three years, but things seem to be getting better and better by the day. Fat Man and I have had a ton of relationship problems and live separately, but close to each other, while we work on both our relationship and ourselves. He's a fabulous father, even though he sometimes gets a little overwhelmed with the prospect of a screaming baby.

I found out I was pregnant with Little Boy just after we separated briefly on Friday the 13th- very unexpected since I was supposed to be infertile. I've been bouncing from place to place since, getting screwed over pretty well, but now things seem to be settling. Little Boy is a beautiful, wonderful kid- rarely really cries, lots of smiles, ahead of his body's abilities (he wants to crawl and talk badly). He currently is a cracklebox as he has RSV and Pnuemonia, but is getting over it very well.

This blog will probably end up having lots of squeefests about Little Boy, but will hopefully serve insight into mental illness- I am diagnosed Bipolar and have chronic GAD and PTSD, relationship difficulties, and various family concerns.